


Without You

by CanWeNot



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas fic, M/M, Male Slash, Post-Reichenbach, kind of sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanWeNot/pseuds/CanWeNot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two halves to a whole, apart on a special day of the year.<br/>John and Sherlock spend Christmas without each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without You

**Author's Note:**

> First ever Johnlock fic I've written. Forgive any spelling errors, if you'd be oh-so-kind. Also, sorry if I got some of the British words and terms messed up, I'm (unfortunately) not from the UK.  
> Recommended listening: Timshel by Mumford and Sons  
> Vienna by Billy Joel

It was dark outside. The glimmer of streelights shone into the window of 221B, where John sat upon the couch, observing his surroundings with feigned interest. It wasn't that he disliked Chrismas, he just didn't see the point of celebrating it without the one person who mattered the most in his life. In fact, he didn't see the point of doing anything without that one person. When Sherlock died, John did too. Though he was obviously physically alive and breathing, his soul- his _being_ -  fell with Sherlock.

Last year he and Sherlock had celebrated Christmas as a couple for the first time, despite the assumptions from multiple people that they were married. The morning was spent in bed, exploring each other's bodies and making love, with short bouts of sleep inbetween. When they had finally gotten out of bed, hungry and with the most pleasant of feeling in love, John ordered Chinese takeout from the little place down the street while Sherlock sat, wearing nothing but his sheet, watching his John contently. Sherlock had then proceeded to snog him thoroughly and John was seriously considering having another round when the doorbell rang, alerting them of their delivery. They pulled apart, unhappy with the interruption, as evident by Sherlock's muttered curses. John chuckled and apologized before making his way downstairs, where he paid the delivery man and sniffed the appetizing food. As he entered the flat again, he was surprised to see his other half had gained some company. In Sherlock's lap sat a small bulldog pup, who was looking happily back at John.

" _Do I even want to know?_ " John had asked aloud.

" _This beast is your_ _present_." Sherlock explained. _"You had a dog when you were younger and you're always going on about you much you_ mis _him."_

John crouched down to his knees and gently pet the dog's head, " _Where've you been hiding him?_ "

" _In Mrs. Hudson's flat. She brought him up here this morning but you were too busy to notice. Yet again, you see but you do not observe._ " Sherlock replied, smiling fondly. " _His name is Gladstone."_

John shook his head disbelievingly and grinned, reaching up to kiss Sherlock.

Presently, John couldn't believe that was just a year ago. Looking around, he saw the only other occupents of the room- Lestrade, who had dropped in to check on him, and Mrs Hudson- standing in the kitchen talking animatedly about a subject that John was sure he wouldn't want to take part. What he hoped (wished, _prayed_ ) he would find was Sherlock, playing his violin, scowling at the decorations (which were Mrs. Hudson's doing, no doubt, as John was not the least bit motivated to anything other than reminisce on the past), or even pacing the room in desperate need of a case.

A gentle whine pulled John out of his wishful thinking and he looked down to find Gladstone at his feet, the dog's head turned as if he were regarding John with curiousity. Wrapping his arms aroud the bulldog, John buried his face in the fur of yet another reminder of better days.

"Merry Christmas, Sherlock." he whispered softly.

* * *

Accross the street from 221B, a dark figure stood out of the light radiating from the sidewalk. He could see into the window of his former flat and his heart clenched as he saw the sandy-haired resident embraced his pet. His hand found his way to his neck and fingers tangled in the dog tags he wore.

" _It's not much, but I want you to have them because they're part of who I was,_ " John told him last Christmas. " _and you're a part of who I am._ "

"Merry Christmas, John." Sherlock breathed. Shoving his hands deep in his pockets, he turned to walk down the street, vowing that next Christmas he would be with John.

 

**Author's Note:**

> It's not as long as I'd like it to be, but not bad for being written on four house of sleep, eh?


End file.
